Author
Topic: The Podunkville Files - The Pulp RP (Read 17931 times)

Pointing up momentarily, James shook his head, "California's a long way to go when the sky's falling." Swirling the vial around further, he continued, "The way I see it, those satellites are going to start crashing down in the next few minutes, and when that happens I don't intend to be driving through the middle of a suburb in Kansas hoping to not get pegged."

He then pointed to the ship, "They seem to know what's going on. I think we should rattle the cage and see what response we get."

Smiling, he winked at Nigel, "You want to see what this is? It's a compound I've created. Take an unstable gas, a neutral combustible material, seal it in a vial," flicking open his lighter, the small flame burned low, highlighting the spark in James' eyes as he lit a small cloth on the edge of the vial. He continued, his voice a bit more hurried with excitement, "Listen up, this is about to get real, feel free to bail if you'd like but I would rather take a flying machine than a car to get out of here." The small flame began to exhaust the cloth, "I'm running to that Gun club, I suggest you guys follow."

With that, James stood up and hurled the small vial towards the ships door. Upon collision, a small burst of smoke appeared followed by a vwoosh as the door became coated in a sticky blue fire, melting the door slowly but effectively. With the ship dealt with for the time being, James emerged from their alley and made a b line towards the club.

"No no no no don't" And he threw it. Well bugger. At least he had a name. Jim. God, it would have been so awkward to ask.

All of Nigel's training kicked in as the vial broke on impact. A sharp intake of breath, getting in position to run and then bolting it before one gets hit. Most people who do heroic things tend to end up dead - it's the statistical outliers that become heroes.

This time, there was some extra baggage. Jon was the only lead, apart from whatever was in the crater, and Nigel wasn't about to let him die. So Nigel grabbed Jon by the wrist and pulled him behind as he ran. The pair reached the gun club just as James did, crashing through the door and jumping behind the front desk.

"Unfortunately, it's not above mine. Now I've seen fillings that pick up radio, although they weren't strictly fillings and they weren't actually put in by a dentist- that's not important. But I've never even heard of something that can pick up radar. Unless this is some wild coincidence, I want to know how you knew it was a 'heavy duty radar'."

Rummaging through the club James grinned as he found himself in a room surrounded by gun racks, each with a placard indicating ownership.

Returning to the companions that followed, he laid down a reasonable stack of hunting rifles, shotguns, and ammo. "Got to love Kansas." Slinging a rifle over his shoulder he agreed with Nigel, adding, "Probably has something to do with that bike of his using energy when its 'off'"

Loading the rifle, James continued, "I'd hurry, too. Antifreeze burns pretty damn hot and that door isn't going to be there forever."

Anton ran off as well. He zipped straight past Nigel and the biker, past the window that Jim had tumbled through, around to the back of the building and up into the open passenger side of his car. With a relieved sigh, Anton plopped into the driver's seat. He rammed the key into the ignition and with a screech flew off down a side street in a Westerly direction. The gun club vanished behind a pair of small boutique shops and Anton made a hard right back onto Main Street. He reached into the passenger seat and held up his rear-view mirror. The UFO was ablaze and lights were beginning to flash all across its surface. A deep bass sound filled his ears and he pushed the gas a little harder against the floor.

Something small and shiny shot out of the UFO and darted down Main Street toward Anton. Meanwhile, the air around the ship itself began to cool rapidly and MICs sensors started to go haywire. A bubble of cold seemed to be forming around the ship; and the motorcycle, while very warm, decided to casually roll a few feet outside of its range. There was a strange noise like rubber rubbing against rubber and everything in the immediate vicinity of the UFO looked as if it had been flash frozen. The only thing that hadn't changed was Jim's firebomb, which was still burning amidst the frigid temperatures.

Anton hadn't noticed any of this though. He was driving frantically down Main Street with some strange missile in pursuit. With another hard right, Anton was once more off of the main drag. The Podunkville Police Station passed him by on his left and a few moments and about one block later, Anton turned around to see the entire building go up in flames. Apparently the UFO had fired a missile at him.

"So much for the cops..." he mumbled as he sped out of the town proper. In the distance he could see the faint glow of the junkyard's flood lights and the large pile they protected. It was the last vestige of Podunkville and, if things went well, the last thing he'd have to see of that forsaken town. Up above him streaks of red and orange marred what was otherwise a perfect moonlit night.

"Okay, number one, radar uses radio waves, it's what the R stands for," Jon began, quietly proud that he'd remembered that from one of MIC's smug lectures and getting into the flow of blatant lies that had gotten him this far.

"Two, funny story, dealt with something like it up in canada a couple weeks back when some guys used it for night flying to fake a UFO as part of a kidnapping scheme. Check the papers if you want." God, give him a weirdo in a mask with bizarrely expensive equipment any day, this was all too real. "That was a gentle tingling, this felt like I chugged ice water over a cavity, so I figured it's gotta be way stronger."

"Finally, I have a seat warmer that I sometimes leave on so I don't freeze my ass off first thing in the morning. I know it's not good for the battery, but It's my money so I don't see how it's your business."

Logged

Nefarious? Nearly. Ne’er-do-well? Never! Neither nearly names this narrator. Naive and knowledgeable, notorious and inscrutable, this nascent Nero is known naturally as Neoadept.

SB-5 stood at the edge of the crater and peer in. Although the wreckage was mangled, he could clearly recognize it as a satellite. As he contemplated going down into the crater to salvage parts, an emergency signal fired off from one of his robots. It only lasted a fraction of a second, which means something destroyed it rather quickly. He had not detected a satellite crash nearby, though they seemed to still be falling elsewhere around the town. No, something else was responsible.

Another one went off. SB-5 stood still, scanned the horizon with his new found sense. Unfortunately, radar bounces off metal, and junkyards contain a lot of it.

And another. This is not good, he thought. Spurred into action, he raced back to the office, running straight through the door, glass shattering onto the floor. He turned to the desk and threw it against the wall. Where it had been, was a small metal door. He flung the door open, inside was a small arrangement of firearms—it's amazing what people throw out. After scanning the selection for a moment, he singled out a M1903 Springfield. He grabbed the appropriate ammunition and loaded the rifle, putting the rest in a small bag which he flung over his shoulder.

He turned around to see two armed men entering the clearing near the crater. Without a second thought, he brought the rifle up and fired a shot through glassless door, landing dead center on the left one's skull. As his body fell lifelessly to the grounds, the right one shouted into his radio, "Shots fired! Hostile is inside the building!" and trained his rifle at the door. But it was too late, SB-5 had already reloaded and fired another shot through the second man's head.

So, there are more of them, he thought. Just then, he heard a loud pop. Turning left to face the sound, there was a loud crash of glass fragmenting and as a small canister landed on the floor. It began spewing out smoke of some kind. Tear gas, probably. Silly humans, he thought. Using his new found cover, he peered though the window shade—which was still drawn—using his radar and spotted another pair of armed men. He raised his rifle and fired another shot. This time, the man let off a yelp as he collapsed to the ground. The radar was simply not intended to track such a small target.

"Man down!" yelled the other as he began to open fire into the office. SB-5 quickly jumped headlong through the door, using the growing cloud of gas as cover, and landed on the ground prone. He raised his rifle again and fired. This time he connected with the head, and his assailant fell over, his gun still firing for a brief moment before he landed in a lump.

I've got to get out of here, he thought. He jumped up onto his feet and ran full-tilt towards the entrance of the junkyard. He heard a few shots go off behind him as he rounded the last corner, but he kept running. He ran through the gate, left ajar—no doubt from his attackers—and out onto the street, where he was immediately aware of a car, which came to a screeching halt a few feet to his right.

Anton could hear voices screaming in the distance. It was the first thing he heard after slamming on the brakes to avoid some mouth breather that had run out into the street. Before he knew it, he was yelling too.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" and "Do you have any idea what's going on tonight!?" amongst other profanity-laced exclamations.

The next thing Anton knew, the person had climbed into his car and was trying to push its foot against the pedal. He struggled with the intruder for a moment before he realized that it wasn't human. Then he yelped and jumped back, knocking the weakened driver-side door to the pavement. Getting to his feet and using the door as a shield, Anton began to negotiate with the villain.

"Hey man, take the car, it's cool. I'm just trying to stay out of your business. Don't mind me... you and your friends there can just go on about whatever it is you're doing and leave me alone." Anton looked over the robot's shoulder at the three armed men racing toward them. Then he noticed that the robot was trying to drive the car away. "They are your friends... right?"

The masked man leading the trio of armed thugs placed his pistol back on his belt and hefted a large black cannon over his shoulder. It made a loud charging sound, sending Anton's car radio into a panic. The bartender backed away, holding the car door up as best he could as he tried to think of something. "I'm gonna take that as a no..."

A loud zap erupted from the soldier's cannon and a beam of purple light connected with the car door in Anton's hand. It shot out of his grip and went spiraling across the rocky wastes before exploding into a thousand little bits.

That was all Anton needed. He dove into the passenger side of his own car as it drove past him and back towards town. Before Anton could open his mouth to tell the robot that it was driving in the wrong direction another pair of purple beams whizzed past, evaporating a cactus and the "Welcome to Podunkville" sign.

"Hmph," James shook his head, "You can keep your secrets for now, but no seat warmer I've ever seen has run that hot. I'd like to take a look at it after if you don't mind," He then grinned, "have to get a new bike an-"

Looking up he noticed that the ship had begun to give off multiple sirens and shot off a rocket; hurriedly, he pulled the two men down behind the checkout counter; it seemed that the ships fire extinguishing system had run its course. Emerging from their cover he smiled as a lone police robot pulled up and began issuing a ticket to the icy vehicle. "Woah, I have to get me one of these..." James muttered as he surveyed the blast scene. Everything was dark, save for the robot and the door. "Interesting."

Checking his ammo, James looked to his two companions and nodded, "You're still free to run, b-" another rumble shook as if a building had exploded near by. "I'm getting some answers."

He then approached the side of the ship as the fire continued, boring a hole in the ship about the size of a globe. The blue heat leaving metallic droplets as the pieces melted bit by bit. Removing a glass flask, James opened the container and took a swig of the contents. Then, with a sigh he inserted a piece of cloth and covered it with the liquor. Igniting the makeshift molotov he tossed it into the hole and quickly returned to cover.

Holding his rifle steady, his attention was caught by the sound of a car racing towards the icy covered streets. He looked and caught a glimpse of a glowing red object in the distance, closing the gap rapidly. 'Oh. ****.' James thought, 'They're going to hit this ice.'

"No no no this is the wrong way!! We're heading right toward that thing again."

SB-5 did his best to ignore the frantic human in the passenger seat, though the large ship up ahead gave him pause. As they approached another door rolled open and a larger version of the cannon that the soldier was carrying poked out to survey the scene. Turning the wheel sharply, SB-5 tried to evade as the weapon charged. Fortunately he had failed to notice the sheet of ice that had formed on the road and the car began to spin wildly, allowing it to narrowly avoid being blasted by the UFO's cannon.

The car rammed into the curb and bounced up into a butcher's shop, launching both passengers. Anton landed on top of a folding table and rolled across the floor into the far wall. He was unconscious. Meanwhile, SB-5 careened through an open freezer that swung shut behind him and his radar signature dropped off of the map entirely.

SB-5 was trapped. Try as he might, he could not get the door of the freezer to budge. It must open from the outside, he thought. Worst of all, the thick metal walls blocked his radar. All he could see was himself.

He looked down at his rifle. He didn't have enough space to reload it. I have on shot left, he thought. I've got to make it count...

So, as he remained motionless in the extreme silence of his metal sarcophagus, his brain computed the trajectory of his gun in all the places he could fire it.

A shot rings out loud and true from inside the refrigerator and in a one in a million chance finds its target in a soft part of the UFO as it bears down on the Butcher's shop. Alarms sound and the metallic monstrosity lists sharply and takes the top story off Podunkville Kosher Deli, smoke belching from its ravaged propulsion system.

Across town, the indian man and his entourage interrupt their search for robots as they listen to the mayday from their UFO.

"Aw ****" one swears "Must have got winged by a satellite."

"I knew that thing wasn't ready for field testing. Now the containment is probably damaged and we all know what happens when it fails"

The suited men shiver slightly and give each other silent glances before breaking into a run, away from their failing spacecraft.

MIC's sensors were screaming with the sudden bombardment of radiation the UFO was suddenly emitting, and the immediate panic of the soldiers made it fairly obvious what was about to happen.

Well, no other option now, every level of it's programming was in agreement.

Revving it's engine, MIC shot off at the gun store, screeching to a halt just in front of the door and blaring it's horn. Jonathan, knowing a getaway when he heard one, vaulted over the counter and ran at the door. Nigel was hot on his heels, determined to hold onto the only lead he had, and they reached the bike at about the same time.

MIC, used to such situations and having already decided that subtlety was useless, pumped it's hydraulic shocks to send it's front wheel bouncing upwards into the curator's jaw. The man flew back as Jon swung a leg over the seat and MIC, unable able to resist the allure of a parting shot, swung it's headlight on the two men.

"The heat signature is the heat sink from my processor, in case you were still wondering." It wasn't like either of them would survive to tell.

Not bothering to wait for a response, the bike rushed off down the street, trying to get as far from the UFO as possible.

"Nitrous boosters engaged," it drawled.

The street lamps became streaks of light as they topped one fifty, swerving around obstacles and falling debris with precision far beyond human reaction time.

Logged

Nefarious? Nearly. Ne’er-do-well? Never! Neither nearly names this narrator. Naive and knowledgeable, notorious and inscrutable, this nascent Nero is known naturally as Neoadept.

OK, talking vehicle... wasn't new, but the first time he'd ever been assaulted by one. As Nigel got up, he felt his jaw. Sore, but nothing broken. He watched the bike speed off, then turned his attention to the UFO.

It appeared to be falling out the sky. Which was, of course, worrying. Who knows what the impact might do?

There was then the taste of nothing as the universe folded in on itself. He looked back in the opposite direction the bike had gone and smiled. "Jim," he yelled back into the shop, "I'm thinking we catch ourselves a talking bike. Have you got any metal cord?"

Yes, the UFO was a worry, but Nigel needed more information, and it was quite possible that hunk of scrap knew just how to get it.